


Conduit

by mokuyoubi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Multi, NOT freeform, Oral Sex, PWP, Platonic Romance, Post-Finale, Smut, Threesome, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Will is mostly straight, at least at the beginning, consider this the implication, ish, mostly - Freeform, murder husbands vaguely implied, quit changing my tags after I post, sappy as shit, very vaguely, wtf ao3??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one has ever known Will as well as Hannibal, and if only he could get over his reservations, he knows that they could be amazing together. Hannibal, happy to have Will in whatever capacity he is able, is only too willing to give Will anything he wants, even if it's someone other than himself.</p><p>Or, Hannibal watches while Will has sex with a woman, and Will gets off on how much Hannibal gets off on it, and voila, sexuality crisis averted!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conduit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rav3nsta9 (effie_chan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effie_chan/gifts).



> Written for [rav3nsta9](http://rav3nsta9.tumblr.com/) who wanted sexual crisis!Will who thinks he just can't get it on with Hannibal, and understanding!Hannibal who facilitates a heterosexual encounter for him...only for Will to realise during the process that no, actually, he really wants Hannibal and can totally get on that.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, love!

For several months, they’ve lived in a quiet, comfortable domesticity. Hannibal is content--satisfied, even, with what they’ve created together. Their days are occupied with exploration of the surrounding towns, evenings they work together in the kitchen, and after dinner they spend hours talking, or in companionable silence.

At the end of the evening, they go to their separate beds, and though Will knows Hannibal would jump at the chance of sharing one, he’s never shown the slightest disappointment over this arrangement. Physical intimacy is not a necessity for him.

It’s never been a particular necessity for Will, either. He’s enjoyed sex but he’s never really sought it out, outside of relationships. Within relationships, on the other hand, sex has always been an opportunity to elevate it beyond the physical, using his empathy to deepen the emotional bond.

There is no one in the world who has ever known Will like Hannibal, and it seems a crime not to know him in this way, also. But though he longs for that connection, there is a knee-jerk reaction at the mere thought of sex with any man--even Hannibal--that keeps him from crossing the line.

At its core, it’s being raised by a staunchy conservative man, spending the majority of his youth in the Bible belt, of being so fundamentally _different_ from his peers and overcompensating--and carrying along the associated subconscious baggage. 

But more than that, Will enjoys the female form--the softness and curves, the velvet wet heat, the scent and the taste. The feel of a woman coming undone for him; the way her body tightens and quivers like a bow drawn too tight for too long; the way her body clenches around his fingers or tongue or cock, and the satisfying liquid hot rush that follows. 

Comparatively, the masculine form is uninspiring--all hard lines and angles, no give. Will could see himself kissing Hannibal, with his fresh shaven cheeks and plush lips, and his heart races. But even with his imagination being what it is, Will can’t quite figure out how it would proceed from that point.

Knowing that his love for Hannibal transcends the physical, these are hurdles Will is prepared to jump, with the proper guidance. He knows all he need do is ask, yet the words catch in his throat whenever the opportunity arises. And so they continue as before, Hannibal content with the little touches, full of promise, but lacking expectation, and Will’s frustration mounts with every passing evening.

Toulouse is over an hour away, and there are plenty of other, smaller towns with lovely markets for their day to day needs. Still, they make the drive from time to time for the fine shopping and the dining. There’s a wine bar with fancy tapas, just pretentious enough for Hannibal, that can still make an Old Fashioned decently enough to satisfy Will.

It’s a trendy place for the professional crowd, with the music and lights down low, attached to a hotel, which means lots of transient traffic. Never the same faces twice, and that’s how they prefer any sort of contact they have.

Tonight there’s a woman, mid-30s, tall in her stilettos, leaning against the bar with a casual elegance. She’s a sort of All-American beauty, with her golden brown tan and perfectly straight, sparkling white smile, long neck shown off by her elaborately knotted bun of hair high on her head. 

Business suit, but her stockings have black back seams and she’s discarded her jacket to show off the plunging neckline of her wine-coloured top. The wardrobe, fine jewellery, and her general carriage speak of wealth and sophistication.

Will can’t stop staring at her--the dip of her collarbone, the loose draping of her shirt hinting at the body beneath. He’s itching to let down her brown hair to see if it’s as thick and silky soft as it looks. 

It’s mostly just appreciation of something beautiful. Even if we weren’t with Hannibal, whatever that means when they haven’t actually addressed what they are to one another, he wouldn’t hit on her--probably wouldn’t even speak to her. He doesn’t mean to be so obvious about it, but it’s clear he has been, when a silence stretches too long between them and Hannibal glances over his shoulder to follow Will’s gaze.

Will feels his cheeks colour and ducks his head. An apology is on his lips, if not for being attracted to the woman, at least for being inattentive. But before he can say anything, Hannibal is on his feet, approaching the bar. Will’s heart seizes in his chest, and starts beating faster, his palms sweating. 

At first it’s a fear that grips him, that Hannibal is going to harm her in someway. That stealing Will’s attention is a slight worthy of death, in Hannibal’s eyes. It’s justified, and maybe a little arousing, but he need only watch Hannibal’s gait and the easy set of his shoulders, the curve of his lips, and the sparkle in his eyes when he comes to stand beside her to know that isn’t the case. 

No, violence is not Hannibal’s intent. Will watches, frozen, as Hannibal brushes a kiss over her knuckles and they exchange a few words. When Hannibal leans forward to whisper in her ear, she lets him. Lets his hand rest on her delicate neck, and her eyes dip low in amusement and something else. What, exactly, strikes Will like a blow across the face when they both glance at him, a matching heat in their expressions.

Hannibal arches a brow, and it’s as good as crooking his finger in beckoning. Will is on his feet and halfway across the room before he’s made a conscious decision to obey. “Eliot,” Hannibal says, using Will’s alias. “This is Aubrey.”

Under any other circumstances, it would be a simple thing for Will to borrow Hannibal’s easy, graceful manner--kiss her hand, charm her with a smile and a compliment. He’s observed often enough the way Hannibal has with others, and it’s almost become habit to use his empathy to make his way through social interactions these days. Right now, Will’s skin feels too hot and tight, his nerves lit up with tingling arousal.

“Aubrey,” he manages, taking her offered hand. He brushes his thumb along the back, her skin smooth.

“She’d like you to buy her a drink,” Hannibal murmurs, voice so soft Will can barely hear it over the music. Aubrey’s grin widens suggestively at the words, and Hannibal’s hand is a hot, firm point in the small of Will’s back, urging. There is no mistaking what either is offering, and Will would be a fool not to accept.

“What are you having?” Will asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Aubrey gives him a speculative look. “I was having a pinot, but I’m thinking something a bit stronger wouldn’t go amiss,” there’s an upward lilt of her voice, almost like she’s asking a question.

Will is familiar with this game. He takes her in, the way her eyes meet his without hesitation. She’s uncomplicated and easy to read in the way most people are. Confident, successful, intelligent enough, but more than that charismatic and beautiful, and she knows it. She’s been willing to use it to her advantage, and Will can appreciate that. But even so, she balks at being treated as though she’s ‘girly.’

With a lifted hand and a nod of his head, Will gestures to the bartender, and orders her a Sidecar. Her eyes light up with pleasure and interest. “So, Aubrey, what brings you to Toulouse?” Will asks, when her drink has arrived and she shows her approval.

“I’m an Engineering Consultant,” she says. “I’ve been hired by a local company to help design and build their new mechatronics system.”

“That sounds…” Will gives a little, self-deprecating chuckle to show just how out of his depth he is. “Interesting.”

Aubrey takes pity on him, grinning wide. “Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the details,” she says. “I spend all day talking about it, in French, no less. Let me tell you, four years in high school and two years of college French do not prepare you for discussing robotics engineering.”

She reminds him of someone he once knew, but Will isn’t willing to follow that thought any further, to dig and figure out who, precisely, it is. He wants to enjoy her in the now--her easy, teasing manner, and the promise of what is to come.

“Alright,” Will says, happy to let it go. “So tell me something else about you.”

Aubrey laughs, truly caught off-guard and pleased by it. “Um,” she casts her gaze about, clearly uncertain of where to begin. “I have a cat. His name is Cecil.” She takes a sip of her drink and leans closer to Will, teasing the rim of her glass back and forth over her bottom lip in an obvious gesture. “Are you a cat person, Eliot?”

Will glances at Hannibal and back again. “Dog,” he says. “Though Alexander isn’t overly fond of them. I only recently convinced him that one wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.” He wonders what Hannibal has told her, if anything, about their relationship, wonders if he should make it clear that while they live together, they aren’t having sex. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered by this small insight, however.

“What Eliot is leaving out,” Hannibal says, “is that one quickly became two, which in turn quickly became seven.” Will rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it, even if the current number is only four.

Conversation flows easily between them in a constant, casual exchange. Aubrey is funny, quick with a joke, and Hannibal picks up the thread when Will lets it drop. Between the two of them, they keep Will from letting it veer into the awkward and uncomfortable.

Two drinks and an hour later, the space between Aubrey and himself has diminished, and the hand she lets fall on his knee while she’s gesturing stays there, gently rubbing back and forth. She has a hotel room next door, and in another half-hour later she’s letting Will and Hannibal through the door. 

Will’s half-hard already, a low thrum of arousal coursing through him the entire time they sat together at the bar. With a few drinks in her, Aubrey is tipsy enough to be amorous, but not stumbling drunk. She lets Will pin her to the door when it’s closed behind them, presses her hips into his with a tight swivel. He holds her by the wrists, held to the door over her head, and finally gives in to his desire. 

She’s obviously expecting a kiss to her mouth, but she doesn’t protest when Will goes for her neck, instead. She tips her head to the side and lets out a soft moan when he brushes his lips down the delicate curve. Aubrey smells faintly of oranges and clove, sweet, but not overpowering, and there’s no accompanying chemical taste. Will breathes her in, noses where the scent is stronger behind her ear, delighting in the soft hitch of breath.

Will bites down on her earlobe, then just below, and lower. He’s gentle at first, and when she whimpers a faint sound of encouragement, harder, until she’s twisting against him. Will can feel her muscle between his teeth, and he can’t help but think of how much more Hannibal could take--would demand Will take.

Thinking of Hannibal makes Will retreat. He releases Aubrey’s hands, half turning to lean his side against the door. The room is nice--larger than what Will’s used to, with warm-coloured furniture more like what he’d expect to see in a nice home than in a hotel. Hannibal is seated in the oversized armchair in the corner, and Will can’t help but notice it offers a nice, unobscured view of the kingsized bed. 

Hannibal’s eyes are heavy on them, and Will forces himself to meet that gaze. There’s an expectant look, and something that Will doesn’t care to examine more closely in this moment. Instead, he looks down at Aubrey, who smiles up at him from under her lashes, neatly stepping out of her shoes and sinking a good four inches. Something about it sparks a primal reaction in Will, that desire to possess someone so much smaller and more fragile than himself.

“Won’t you come in?” Hannibal asks, making a sweeping gesturing with one hand.

Will finds himself obeying automatically. He wraps an arm around Aubrey’s waist to draw her further into the room. Hannibal’s given him this gift, and the very least Will can do is make it a good show. Aubrey lets him move her how he wants, which just makes Will’s dick harder. Standing at the foot of the bed, maybe six feet from where Hannibal sits, watching, Will is overly aware of every single move me makes.

“Are you expecting the lady to undress herself, Eliot?” Hannibal murmurs, when Will just stands there. His tone is teasing and amused, and Aubrey arches a brow, bites her bottom lip against a matching smile. She begins to work the buttons of her blouse free, taking it slow, putting on show for them both. 

As more and more of her tanned skin is bared, the billowing silk parting to show off her small frame, Will has to touch. He reaches out, laying his palm over her sternum, and spreads open her blouse with one broad swipe of his hand, pushing it up and over one shoulder. She rolls into the touch, shrugging the fabric free altogether. 

All that perfect, golden skin is bared, and Will palms her heavy breasts through the lacy black of her bra. Her nipples are hard, standing out in stark relief, and when he traces the pads of his thumbs over them, she arches her back into the touch. He presses more firmly, one hand braced in the middle of her back as he leans into her, pinching one nipple gently and scraping his teeth along her throat. Down the line of her collarbone and the swell of her breast, before closing his lips around the other nipple and sucking through her bra. 

Her fingers slide up his back and into his hair, clutching him to her, throat working around soft, breathy noises. With a tug of his tie, she guides him up to her mouth, swaying into him. Will finally kisses her, smearing the deep maroon lipstick, glossy and vaguely waxy. She kisses back eagerly, wasting no time in licking past his lips and into his mouth, tongue curling against his.

She works loose the knot of his tie and jerks it free with a snap, letting it flutter to the floor with her shirt. Sways into him as she begins to unbutton his shirt, pulling it from his waistband as she goes. Will’s hands tighten on her waist and he pulls her closer, giving in to the urge to crush her against him. 

He hadn’t realised until just now how much he’s missed the soft give of breasts against his chest, the way it feels to have his arms fitting around a smaller frame as if they were made to slot together. His fingers make quick work of the zipper down the back of Aubrey’s skirt, easing the material over the curve of her hips until it just falls to the ground with a whisper, pooling at their feet. 

Aubrey is panting when Will steps back to look at her. She stands there, unselfconscious, in her matching bra and panties, plain but tantalising garter belt holding her stockings in place. Her body is small naturally, but not overly skinny--well muscled and athletic, but soft and fleshy low on her abdomen and her smooth inner thighs.

“Let down her hair,” Hannibal asks, and Will obliges.

He feels almost as though he is an extension of Hannibal himself as he raises both hands to undo the multitude of hair pins. Her glossy brown hair is just as silky as he imagined when he sinks his fingers into it, and he wonders if Hannibal can, in his grand palace, find a memory of that exact texture to match to this moment. As each pin is removed, another thick section of hair falls around her face, until it’s all free, falling in voluminous waves around her shoulders. An aesthetic such as this Hannibal must have catalogued away at some point.

Gripping a handful, Will tilts her head to kiss her again. She’s good at it, little nips against his bottom lip, tongue talented, mouth hungry, leaving Will’s mouth feeling raw. Her own lips are swollen, chin red from his beard. It’s so easy to imagine Hannibal’s mouth looking the same way, and Will lets the picture fully form in his head, making him grin.

He draws a finger along one of the straps of her garter, tucks under and plucks it gently before letting it snap against her skin, earning him a smile. He toys with the elastic at the top her stockings, considering the pros and cons of undressing Aubrey further. There’s definite appeal to thinking about fucking her, feeling the silky glide of the stockings sliding against his legs.

In the end, he unfastens the garter straps and leaves them dangling as he goes down on his knees. Aubrey’s thighs are trembling when he leans in to lay a kiss on the narrow strip of bare skin between the top of her stockings at the lacy scalloped edge of her underwear. He noses along the skin the the vee of her thighs, just brushing against the fabric. 

Aubrey hitches in a startled breath and Will can smell the sudden rush of her arousal. He knows Hannibal must be able to, as well. Will can’t help but wonder at the affect it’s having on him, though he doesn’t look to confirm his guess. He has the distinct feeling that if he looks at Hannibal, this will all come to an end.

“Would you like to taste her?” Hannibal asks.

Will swallows, but his mouth is still too dry. His nose nudges harder at the dampness spreading over silk and lace, up the vague line of her. He supposes that’s answer enough, for all of them. With fingers brushing up the outside of her thighs and over her hips, he tugs at the waistband of her panties. “May I?”

Aubrey lays her hand on the crown of his head, fingering his curls. She nods once, not looking away as he pulls her underwear down. It catches on the inside of her knee, and she’s unsteady as she lifts first one foot, then the other, to step free, grip on his hair tightening. She’s unshaven, which is both unexpected and very, very welcome.

Will doesn’t give her time to gather herself. He pushes forward, thumbs digging into thigh, pressing a little, and opens his mouth over the thatch of dark curls, searching blindly with his tongue. Aubrey’s hands tighten, nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his shirt, hard enough to mark. Will licks broadly along the slick path from her opening to her clit, then digs in with the point of his tongue, smiling at the bitter taste of her and the way her hips buck.

He frames her hips with his hands, struck motionless momentarily by how big his hands look on her, by the way his fingers meet in the small of her back. Then he gives a little tug and buries his face between her thighs again, mouth open and hungry for the taste of her. She gasps, leaning back, exposing herself to him. 

Will eases her back onto the bed, lifts her stockinged legs dangling over his shoulders. The position lets him spread her wider open, puts him at the perfect height to shove his tongue deep inside her before retreating, nosing at her clit, alternating between light, quick flicks of his tongue and firmer, rougher pressure. It earns him trembling moans and delicate fingers clenching his hair, her heels digging into his shoulderblades.

Aubrey isn’t shy. He has a feeling she’s used to telling guys just what she wants in bed, and how new it must be for her, not to have to say a word. To have Will anticipate everything she wants, before she can even ask. 

Though he shies away from using it in general, sex is the one time Will is eager to draw on his empathy. He can feel Aubrey’s pleasure as sharply and desperately as if it were his own, and lets that fuel his own eagerness for her. It doesn’t take long to have her writhing beneath him, working her hips desperately towards his face.

Will sucks her clit between his lips and finally, _finally_ slides two fingers inside her. She’s slick and tight, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and Will’s dick jumps in his slacks, desperate to feel it firsthand. Each breath leaves her on a high-pitched whine and he thrusts in, knuckle deep, releasing her clit and tonguing her messily, pressing in with his nose, getting her all over him, and she goes tense, back lifting from the bed. 

Aubrey’s knees dig into his head, heels thumping erratically against his back and when she comes she lets out a low, animal cry, body clamping down on his fingers. The waves of her pleasure, her shock at how intense it is, the immediate rush of sleepy, good-natured satisfaction in the wake of her orgasm--it all flows over Will like an intimate caress. Almost equally strong, he can feel Hannibal’s presence behind him, the weight of his gaze, his breathing, even but perhaps slightly faster than usual? 

Will has to look.

He pulls his fingers free, kissing Aubrey’s pelvic bone when she moans at the sensation. She clutches at him, but he turns to look over his shoulder. To the outside observer, Hannibal might look collected, cool and detached--ankle crossed over his knee, hands clasped across his stomach, eyes only slightly narrowed. The faint flush on his cheeks is the only physical sign he is at all affected by this show.

Will knows better. He can feel the heat of Hannibal’s gaze, knows that Hannibal is cataloguing every movement, every sound, storing them in his mind for later review. Will grins; the skin of his mouth and chin feels stretched too tight, Aubrey’s juices drying in the cooler air outside of her thighs. He licks his lips pointedly. Delights when Hannibal swallows at the sight. 

He can read Hannibal’s thoughts as vividly as if they were his own. Perhaps they are his own, as well. Images of Hannibal licking Aubrey from Will’s skin, chasing the taste over his mouth and past his lips. Will’s legs are weak at the thought.

And now that Will has looked, he can’t tear his eyes away from Hannibal, even as he stands, undoing his belt and slacks, kicking off his shoes. His breath comes faster under Hannibal’s steady gaze, the raw hunger coursing through him an echo of Hannibal’s own. 

Will is aware of Aubrey watching him, can see her drawing her hand up and down her stomach, over her breasts, in his peripheral vision. Clearly, she is unbothered by his split attention; maybe she’s expected as much, from whatever Hannibal said to her, earlier. She waits patiently, sated, while he steps out of his pants and his boxers all at once and stands naked before them both.

Hannibal drinks in the sight of him. Will wonders if it’s cruel to let Hannibal have that which he desires so close, and yet out of his reach, but of all the things Will feels from Hannibal, that pain is not among them. So Will pushes further.

“What now?” Will asks, words directed at Hannibal, who seems taken aback by the question.

“This is for you, _my dear_.” The pet name sounds strange on Hannibal’s tongue, his way of avoiding the use of Will’s name without calling him by his alias. It makes warmth spark low in Will’s spine, and he’s so fucking hard right now, he’s not sure how long he’s going to last.

“No,” Will says. “This is for _us_.”

Hannibal tilts his head to the side, eyes widening slightly, as he searches Will’s face. So often he seems to read Will’s mind, that it always comes as a surprise when Will is reminded that Hannibal isn’t actually a psychic. 

Now, Hannibal reads him carefully. Whatever he sees, his nostrils flare and eyes darken. “Aubrey, dear,” he says, not taking his gaze from Will. “Would you mind lying on your stomach? Head at the foot of the bed.”

Will can hear the smug grin in her voice when she drawls, “Not at all.” It strikes Will suddenly that she’s getting off on Hannibal’s presence and what she thinks their relationship to be, as much as she’s getting off on what Will’s doing to her.

His heart is racing at the implication--she thinks they’re lovers--and he has to grab his dick, squeezing hard at the base to calm himself. Hannibal smiles, eyes flicking briefly down to take in the sight of Will touching himself, and up again.

Aubrey is spread out on the bed, hands tucked under her cheek, watching them with an indulgent expression. She extends a hand, pointing to the bag on top of the dresser. “Condoms,” she says.

Will finds the condoms and a slim tube of lubricant in the inner pocket. He climbs on the bed behind her, brushing her hair over her shoulder, unhooking her bra one-handed and rolling the straps down her arms. The stretch of tan skin is unbroken by lines from a top. He drops a kiss at the top of her spine, another slightly further down.

Looking past her shoulder, Will finds Hannibal’s eyes again, even as he probes between Aubrey’s spread legs. It’s far too easy, now with his fingers coated in slick lubricant, with her lying like this before him, to imagine it’s Hannibal’s body giving when Will pushes his fingers inside. 

Certainly that’s what Hannibal is thinking. Will can read it in the way he sinks lower in the seat, hips tilting forward. There is a telltale bulge in his slacks, the most blatant physical sign Will has ever seen of Hannibal’s desire for him.

Will has always been a conscientious lover, but right now he can barely think straight, fumbling one-handed with the condom wrapper while fucking his fingers deeper inside her. Aubrey makes a low, needy sound, but Will can barely hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. 

When he draws back and pushes in again, Aubrey lets out a long, high sound of pleasure. He sets a steady pace--slow withdraw and smooth thrust forward, with a sharp snap of his hips to seat himself deep each time. Within a few strokes, Aubrey’s begins to tremble. Will teases his fingers through the curls between her thighs. He parts her slick folds, teasingly close to her clit, but not yet touching, even as Hannibal unbuttons his boxer shorts and pulls out his cock.

 

Will’s erection throbs almost painfully at the sight, and for a second he feels on the verge of orgasm--has to hold himself still and breathe deeply. He licks his lips; the sudden, lustful longing to have that heavy, hard length on his tongue is shocking in its desperation. How could Will have missed this? How could he have thought he wouldn’t want it? How could he have ever thought he wanted anything else?

 

“Hannibal,” Will says, the name little more than a pitiful, broken whimper, when Hannibal begins to touch himself. He wraps a firm hand around his cock, pulls back the foreskin and runs his thumb over the wet head. His eyes flutter shut as if overwhelmed, and Will feels that sharp, aching desperation.

 

He fucks Aubrey, watching as Hannibal strokes himself in time with Will’s thrusts. Aubrey isn’t unaffected by it, either. Will is caught up in her response to seeing Hannibal, the tingling excitement and arousal that creates an escalating feedback. It spurs him on, to fuck her faster and thrust harder.

 

Hannibal’s eyes, dark and hooded with lust, drink in every movement. He breathes deeply the mingled scent of the three of them; ears pricking at each sigh and moan, the sound of skin on skin, the mattress springs giving under the force of their movements.

Normally, Will could last longer; he’s not an impatient lover, and giving his partner pleasure is as good as receiving it himself. But this is so far beyond what he ever could have anticipated. Now he is almost absent-minded in his care of Aubrey, stroking lightly over her clit as he thrusts hard. His attention is devoted entirely to Hannibal—every twist of his wrist and the sharp intake of his breath—as he imagines that hand on his cock...or his hand on _that_ cock.

 

Aubrey is merely a conduit, funnelling all Will's sublimated desires. He's shocked, and so very fucking grateful towards Hannibal for giving him this, and towards Aubrey for her role in it all. He presses a sloppy, affectionate kiss to the curve of her shoulder, and she tips her head to the side, letting him nearer. He remembers how sensitive she was to that touch and bites down hard at the flesh of her neck, sucks enough for her to really feel it, but not long enough to bruise.

When rubs harder against her clit, she whimpers and shudders. Her second orgasm hits her with far more force, making her cry out, over and over, Will's borrowed name, and _oh fuck oh fuck_ , at the rise and the crest. Her inner muscles squeeze tight around him, and Will grits his teeth, pushes her down to lie flat on the bed. She goes, boneless and acquiescent.

“Hannibal,” he pants out, hands braced on the mattress. The shakey, desperate rocking of his hips is entirely beyond his control, and he lets out a low whine, lets his head hang. He keeps his eyes on Hannibal from under his fringe, sweat rolling down his temples and the small of his back. “Fuck, please.”

Will isn't even sure what he's asking at this point, wrecked by his own pleasure and that of Aubrey and Hannibal. Hannibal knows. He rises to his feet and crosses that small space between them, still stroking himself. For a second, Will thinks Hannibal is going to guide his cock to Will's mouth, and he's ready to take it. His mouth fucking _waters_ at the thought. But Hannibal kneels on the bed at Aubrey's side. His free hand reaches out to cup Will's face and his thumb traces along the curve of his bottom lip.

No words pass between them, but they aren't necessary. Will sees all he needs in Hannibal's tender gaze. He closes his eyes and surges forward, feeling the warm puffs of Hannibal's breath ghosting over his mouth. Their foreheads touch and that simple touch is more intimate than any kiss he's experienced. Hannibal murmurs his name, that awed reverence that Will doesn't know how he's earned, and as simply as that, he's coming.

He buries himself deep in Aubrey with each jerky thrust, and she moans, both pleased and wounded by it, oversensitive. He hasn't even finished when he hears the catch in Hannibal's breath, followed by the low, almost inaudible groan. Will forces his eyes open to watch, looking down between them, licking his lips absently at the sight.

Hannibal's cock is slick with precome, and he pulls back the foreskin on a downstroke. Come pulses all over his hand and thighs, on the bedspread, dick jumping in his hand with the force of it. Will's own cock throbs in sympathetic pleasure, and he feels wrung dry, arms trembling from supporting his weight.

In the afterglow, Hannibal is sweet and attentive to them both. He strokes back Will's curls and nuzzles at his cheek. The touch of his hand on Will's naked skin, running down his side, along the notches of his ribs is electric, and Will would, if he could, be hard again from that along. Hannibal stands, brushes Aubrey's sweat-damp hair from her back and pets along the curve of her spine, cups her chin and presses a kiss to her forehead. He murmurs something soft in her ear and kisses her just beneath as well, then disappears into the ensuite bathroom.

Will maintains the presence of mind to get his weight off Aubrey. He ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash, falling back against the headboard. His breath is still coming too fast and his thoughts are racing. Aubrey rolls onto her back and gives him a smile which turns into a throaty laugh, before dying in a tired, pleased hum.

“I was not planning on taking anyone back to my room tonight,” she says. “Let alone two someones.”

“I wasn’t planning this, either,” Will tells her.

Aubrey arches a brow, as though she isn't sure she believes him. After studying his face for a moment, it appears she accepts it to be the truth. “I've never done that before. With someone watching.”

Will shakes his head. “Neither have I.”

She glances towards the bathroom door and back again, pinning him with a strangely knowing look. “I guess it's a lucky thing your boyfriend knows what you want, and is happy to give it to you.”

“Yeah.” Will swallows thickly and nods. “Sometimes I think he knows what I want better than I do.”

Aubrey laughs again, that low sound that is frankly sexy as hell. Will knows it's telling that despite the fact that he's just fucked her, knows that she'd likely be up for another round if he asked, knows just how good she tastes, how her body feels, how she'll roll her hips back in that enticing way and make those sweet sounds...all he wants is to go home and explore all these new desires with Hannibal.

Hannibal returns with damp wash-cloths and water for them both. He has put himself back together, and looks as impeccable as ever. Certainly not like a man who just got off watching his own private live action sex show. Will wipes himself down, hyperaware of Hannibal's proximity and the almost clinical nature of his gaze as he considers Will now, in the aftermath.

Will expects the parting to be awkward—outside of his marriage and a couple of short relationships, most of his sexual encounters have been, painfully so. Hannibal, of course, is absurdly charming and manages to keep it from going sour as Will gathers his clothing and redresses. Hannibal thanks Aubrey, who smiles and says, “I think _I_ should be thanking _you_.”

Hannibal gives a gracious dip of his head and kisses her knuckles again, and Aubrey smirks at Will over his shoulder. She doesn't bother dressing, just gets to her feet in garter and stockings, and goes to the desk. “I'll be here another month or so, on this project.” She fishes a business card from her briefcase and passes it to him. “Give me a call.”

The hour drive home has never seemed so long. Hannibal drives, and Will stares out the window the entire time, watching the rolling fields blur past in the moonlight. There are a million things he wants to say, but he has no idea where to start. What seemed so easy and obvious in the hotel room with Aubrey between them, now catches something like bitter regret in Will's chest. As if she were alcohol, loosening his inhibitions, he's regained sobriety in her absence.

Hannibal, ever the gentleman, says nothing. Even his presence is unthreatening and unassuming, as if he understands that Will cannot be held to whatever promises his eyes made in the heat of the moment. Will clenches his fists in his lap and struggles with urge to cover Hannibal's hand with his own on the gearshift.

Will spends that entire hour weighing the pleasure the touch would give him against the sting of rejection, and remains paralysed with indecision. It's a foolish fear, as he logically knows Hannibal would welcome his touch, and yet he cannot overcome it. Any words he might say lodge in his throat, unspoken.

It is quite late when they arrive home. The dogs are whining when they come in through the garage, and Will is thankful for the distraction they provide. “I'm going to let them out,” he tosses over his shoulder, following them out into the dark as Hannibal goes on inside.

The dogs chase one another and their own shadows, cast stark by the moon directly overhead. Will throws a few sticks until they tire of the game and start play fighting. Winston settles in with a twig trapped between his paws, gnawing on the end.

Standing in the cold, hands tucked inside his sleeves, that fear and anxiety begin to recede. He breathes in a lungful of fresh air and exhales, allows an easy contentment roll over him. It takes at least another full minute before realisation strikes him, and when it does, his jaw actually drops in surprise.

It wasn't his own fear of rejection keeping him from reaching out in the car, but Hannibal's. Hannibal still so certain, despite what passed between them, that it was only because of Aubrey's presence. Hannibal willing to take whatever Will allows him, and never daring to ask for more.

Will turns to the house, striding across the frost-crisp grass, barely caring if the dogs are following—they have a lot of land and the dogs never wander far. He has far more important things on his mind. The house is dark and still downstairs. Some of the dogs spill in behind him, nails clicking on the hardwood. Will fills their bowls and tosses his coat over the back of the sofa on his way to the staircase, toes off his shoes before heading upstairs.

Hannibal's bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, spilling into the hallway. Will knocks at the frame and pushes the door open before Hannibal responds. Hannibal doesn't look caught off-guard, but then again he rarely does. He's in the process of undoing his shirt, cuff-links in the dish on his dresser top, buttons done halfway down his chest.

Will comes in without invitation, which isn't entirely out of character, but it feels bold. They don't really spend a lot of time in one another's rooms. “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” Hannibal asks, in the tense silence. His voice is deceptively casual. He doesn't continue to undress, going instead to the stand in the corner, and pours a tumbler of scotch for each of them.

“You know I did,” Will says. He takes the tumbler, sips, and closes his eyes to savour the peaty flavour on his tongue. “It was very nice, thank you.” He opens his eyes to see Hannibal watching him, naked hunger in his gaze for a brief second before he covers for it, turning away to hang his suit jacket.

“We could make another trip to Toulouse next weekend,” he says, when he emerges from the closet. In the hand he extends, Aubrey's card is caught between his index and middle finger.

Will looks at it, biting his bottom lip, then he shakes his head. He steps further into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, and doesn't miss the way Hannibal's shoulders tighten. Will sets his tumbler on the dresser and snatches the card from Hannibal's fingers, crushing it in his fist and letting it fall to the floor.

Hannibal only has a moment to react, surprise and hope crossing over his features, before Will cups his hands around Hannibal's jaw and leans up to brush their lips together. The press of their mouths is barely a kiss, really, but Hannibal trembles and his eyes fall shut. “Will,” he breathes.

The skin under Will’s hand isn’t the smooth, unblemished perfection of Aubrey’s. There are marks and imperfections, his face sun-roughened, with the end of day growth of hair, but Will finds he doesn’t mind the scratch of it against his palm. Hel turns his head to the side, drawing their cheeks together, beard dragging against Hannibal’s stubble with a whisper. 

There’s something appealing about this, different but no less than the appeal of a woman, that he can’t quite name yet. He lets his hands smooth down Hannibal's neck, thumbs sweeping lightly along sensitive skin of his pulse, and delights in the shudder it earns him. Strokes over Hannibal's broad shoulders, down his arms to take him by the hands. 

“I was confused,” Will says, each word a kiss against the sharp arch of Hannibal's cheekbone, lips catching on the scar there. “I didn't know what I wanted.”

Hannibal lets out shaky breath. His fingers flex in Will's, uncertain. Will lifts those big, wide hands to his own body, and as soon as he places them on his waist, Hannibal’s touch goes from hesitant to desperately clutching. Will rests his forehead against Hannibal's again, struck all over by the intimacy of it, and lays another soft, fleeting kiss to Hannibal's lips.

“I'm not confused any more, Hannibal.”

Will kisses him again, and again, with firmer and firmer pressure, until Hannibal growls and jerks him close. It’s strange and oddly thrilling not to have to bend downwards to kiss someone. In fact to be the shorter, slighter, weaker party. Hannibal’s arms are bands of iron pulling them flush together, all hard lines and little give. 

Hannibal licks into Will's mouth, equal parts possessiveness and entreaty. It’s an intoxicating combination that makes Will cling to Hannibal’s shoulders and open for him with soft, desperate, needy sounds rising up from his chest. He tilts his hips into Hannibal’s in smooth, unmistakable motion, already starting to grow hard again from the memory of Hannibal’s gaze in the hotel room, and the hunger in his kiss.

“Are you certain?” Hannibal asks, words muffled by the press of Will’s lips against his. 

Though Hannibal’s hesitation wavers between them, Will is unwilling to part far enough to have this conversation. Instead, he slings a leg around Hannibal’s thigh, leans him back against the closet door and rocks into him. “Do I seem uncertain?”

There’s a grateful disbelief in Hannibal’s touch, a desperation to have as much as he is able before this draws to an end, as he believes it inevitably will. His grip shifts, sliding firm over Will’s hips and down around his back to grab a handful of his ass and jerk him closer. Will’s dick jumps at the touch and he grunts in surprise, grins against Hannibal’s mouth. In the open vee of his thighs, tucked against Will’s balls, he can feel Hannibal’s growing arousal.

“It is quite a leap from this evening’s activities,” Hannibal murmurs. He drags his mouth from Will’s to suck kisses down his jaw, past the line of his beard on his neck to the smooth skin below. Will realises he probably still smells like Aubrey to Hannibal’s sensitive nose, but Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind. His teeth close gently over Will’s throat, catching skin between with enough pressure to bruise.

“Let’s say it was an eye opening experience,” Will says. “You have to know I was thinking of fucking you the whole time.”

He drops his hands between them, grabs a handful of Hannibal’s dick before he can really allow himself to think about it. Hannibal is hot and hard under his touch, and Will’s pulse speeds up, his breath comes faster. He swallows, drags his palm up the length and Hannibal thrusts into him. Hannibal groans sweetly, at Will’s words and his touch, pants hot against the spit-wet skin beneath his mouth.

This is good. This is really fucking good. There’s wanting Hannibal in theory, and then in practice, and Will’s dick is painfully hard from just this. His mouth waters at the thought of getting it on Hannibal’s cock. His muscles clench thinking about the slide of their naked skin together. This is still turning him on. More than just a willing body, that it’s Hannibal, who knows him so well.

“Fuck, we need--” Hannibal bites harder and Will’s words die on a moan, head falling back. His free hand begins working at the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt, fingers fluttering over bare skin as it is exposed. 

Will gets lost in touch--in the feel of Hannibal’s skin and the crisp contrast of the greying curls on his chest; the feel of Hannibal’s mouth dragging along his collarbone, varying pressure of light sucking kisses and scraping bites, sometimes hard enough Will thinks the skin will break, though it never does. 

Hannibal holding back, at least for now, still wary and anxious. Still waiting for the solid ground beneath his feet to crumble. Will finds he likes the idea of reassuring Hannibal, again and again. Coming to his room each evening, until Hannibal realises it’s _their_ room, now. Plying his reserve with hot kisses and searching hands. Having Hannibal every way he can, and giving himself in turn. 

There is spark of anxiety at the thought, and Will is too close to the situation to know if it’s his own or Hannibal’s. It doesn’t stop him from pushing Hannibal’s shirt over his shoulders and starting on the fastening of his slacks. His fingers are shaking, from nerves or excitement, or both. Hannibal covers Will’s hands with his own, tries to stop him, but Will shakes him off, jerks down the zipper and shoves the waistband down.

Taking it slow isn’t going to do anything but give him time to analyse and second-guess everything. He’s been doing that for months, and there isn’t going to be another Aubrey, he’s already decided that much. He shoves his hand down the front of Hannibal’s boxer briefs, and honestly, he isn’t sure which of them is more surprised or turned on when he wraps his bare hand around Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal’s head lifts to meet Will’s wide eyes, mouth hung open on a low groan. Will licks his lips and tightens his grip, slowly drags up the length of him. The foreskin glides easily down and back with Will’s stroking, and it’s fascinating. Though it could not be more incredibly different from touching a woman, he finds it nonetheless compelling, the reaction it earns him from Hannibal. 

Will drops to his knees. Hannibal cups his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his scar. “Will,” Hannibal breathes, a whispered warning. Will ignores it. He tugs down the elastic band of the boxers and shove both them and the trousers down around Hannibal’s ankles.

Hannibal smells clean and vaguely musky, and Will leans in to drag the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock. Hannibal’s hands fall gently on Will’s head, finger his curls with trembling restraint. Is he consciously mirroring Aubrey’s touch, hoping to erase it from Will’s mind with his own? Will would reassure him with words, but he knows only enough time will truly work in that regard. 

He eases back the foreskin and closes his lips around the head of Hannibal’s cock, sucking just lightly, and is rewarded with a rush of precome on his tongue. Oddly tasteless, but thick and surprising enough to make him pull back. 

Hannibal opens his mouth, and Will forestalls any words by going down on him again. Hannibal is big--longer than Will and somewhat thicker. With it staring him in the face, so to speak, there is a newfound appreciation and respect for the women in his past who have given him oral. He feels as though he’s barely put his mouth on Hannibal’s dick before he’s gagging. Fighting back the initial heaving of his stomach, he draws back and goes more slowly the second time, takes it more shallowly. 

It doesn’t go any more smoothly...clearly this will take time and patience that Will currently doesn’t possess. But Will finds he is more than willing to try again later. He is in fact eager to have Hannibal laid out beneath him, pliant and needy, struggling to keep himself still as Will practices for hours.

When he chokes the third time and Hannibal’s grip tightens in his hair, Will allows himself to be tugged to his feet. He drags his sleeve over his chin, wiping away the trail of drool, and gives Hannibal a cheeky grin. Hannibal hauls him near, closes his arms around Will and drags him into a kiss that leaves Will dizzy and breathless, all but swooning.

They part, and Will blinks his eyes open to find Hannibal studying him with a wondering expression on his face. “This is not at all what I expected,” he murmurs.

Will arches a brow and chuckles dryly. “No,” he agrees. “Shouldn’t you be used to me defying your expectations by now.”

“Never, my dear boy,” Hannibal purrs, and draws him in for another kiss, this one slow and searching. “You will never cease to astound me.”

Will hums in vague agreement. He twists free of Hannibal’s hold and takes a few steps backward, towards the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt as he goes. Without Aubrey as a buffer, Will feels everything more keenly. Hannibal’s desire pulses in the air between them like humidity, threatening to break, and Will can’t wait. 

All he has to do is crook his finger and Hannibal crosses the distance between them, tearing Will’s clothes away with more force than necessary. The lack of restraint is refreshingly welcome. Just as Will held and moved Aubrey as he pleased, now Hannibal does the same with him, manhandling him out of his clothing.

Will gasps when Hannibal lifts him and his breath leaves him at the force with which he’s laid out on the bed, Hannibal following. He sinks, lowering his body against Will’s as their mouths meet, tongues and teeth clashing. Will grabs at whatever bare skin he can get his hands on, Hannibal a strange contrast of hard muscle and soft, giving flesh. 

This isn’t going to last very long. His dick is leaking fast, slicking the skin of Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal shifts, and then their cocks are rubbing together with each roll of Hannibal’s hips. Will tears his mouth away from the kiss to look down between them, and he never expected to find it so erotic, watching two dicks thrusting in the tight hollow made by their stomachs, but apparently tonight is the night for new and interesting revelations. 

Will’s fingers clutch and release rhythmically at Hannibal’s biceps, using the leverage to drive up into the hard, unrelenting heat of Hannibal’s body above him. “God, Hannibal,” he says, words sticking on his dry tongue. “She was gorgeous, all that perfect skin, and that hair, those eyes, and fuck she was so into it.” 

Hannibal growls low in warning and Will arches up to meet his punishing thrust. Suddenly all he wants, all he can think about, is Hannibal fucking him open, driving him through the mattress with the force of it, tearing him apart and leaving him undone so no one else can ever have him again. A shudder ripples down the length of his body, drawing tight the muscles along the back of his thighs and ass. His body screams in protest at the strain, but he can’t make himself unclench. He’s so close he can taste it and doesn’t want to slow down.

He twines his arms around Hannibal’s neck and pulls him down into a rough kiss. “I couldn’t think of anything but you, Hannibal.” Will says the name again, just knowing how it burrows under the skin, lights up in Hannibal’s eyes. “How I’d rather have you beneath me. How every time I touched her, it didn’t match up to my expectations. Because I wanted _your_ skin, _your_ mouth.” He punctuates the words, lunging up to catch Hannibal’s bottom lip between his teeth, and tugging.

Hannibal moans, clearly caught off-guard by the confession, and then he’s coming between their bodies in hot, thick pulses. Will gladly follows him over that edge, his whole body seizing up, balls draw tight, and then that glorious release sweeps through him. It wracks through his frame, black and gold sparking behind his eyelids, squeezed shut tightly. He can’t stop the rumbling, needy sounds bubbling up his throat and past his lips as his nails bite into skin.

He’s shaken, shocked by just how good it was, in spite of what he’s felt for Hannibal, and how good he’d known it could be. This has exceeded his expectations in the most pleasant of ways. Left him feeling exposed and raw, as with many an interaction with Hannibal in the past, though with the added benefit of physical satisfaction.

Hannibal drags him up the bed to the pillows, turns him the right way on it, curls into the empty spaces left by the curves and angles of Will’s own body. His touch is light and uncertain, drawing down Will’s quivering stomach.

“It’s yours,” Hannibal says. Will blinks up at him, mind still cloudy with the aftershocks of pleasure. Hannibal traces his hand along Will’s brow. “My skin, my mouth, any part of me. All parts of me. You need only ever ask.”

Will catches Hannibal’s hand in his own and pulls it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. His eyes fall on the jagged red lines down Hannibal’s arms, left in his moment of passion, and he smiles. “I know,” he says, tone smug, brow cocked in the way he knows drives Hannibal mad, though he immediately turns shy and contrite. “I just wasn’t sure how to ask, until tonight.”

“And now that you know to ask…? I warn you Will, though I was willing to indulge your desires tonight, now that we have entered into this I do not intend to share you.”

Will opens his eyes more fully, to study the lines around Hannibal’s eyes and mouth. Though his words are bold and his tone of voice a dangerous promise, Will can read the reserve and fear in Hannibal’s face. How appropriate that Will be the source of it, all things considered.

“I thought I was pretty clear earlier,” Will says, tilting his head towards the business card lying crumpled on the floor, “but I can spell it out for you, if you need me to.” 

Will rolls onto his side with a leisurely stretch, enjoying the pull in his muscles, and drapes his arms over Hannibal’s shoulders. He pulls him nearer, tucking Hannibal in the hollow of his throat. “Aubrey was lovely, but she served her purpose,” he murmurs, Hannibal’s silky-fine hair tickling his lips as he speaks. He doesn’t feel bad about it--she knew perfectly well she was being used for their pleasure, and had no qualms using Will for her own. He remains grateful for her role in this. 

“But I have no intention of asking you to share me again.” Hannibal squeezes tight to him and Will twines his leg over Hannibal’s hip, cradling him near. There’s no mistaking the intimacy of the position, Hannibal’s softening dick held close and tight to the curve of Will’s ass. As clear as it was what Hannibal and Aubrey offered in the bar, Will makes it equally clear what he’s offering, now. 

“You’re mine, Hannibal,” he sighs, content and self-satisfied. “And I’m all yours.”


End file.
